


Silent

by orphan_account



Series: Broken Kaleidoscope [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Muteness, Nightmares, Selectively mute, i dont know but it seems to be a recurring theme in most of my works, why do i insist on hurting alex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alexander comes back, after being missing for a month. Physically, he's fine. Mentally, however, it's a different story.George doesn't care. He finally has his son back.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens
Series: Broken Kaleidoscope [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623586
Comments: 2
Kudos: 174





	Silent

**Author's Note:**

> Oscar Wilde wishes he could use this many commas

Alex was there. He was standing in the middle of camp, covered in blood and dirt, but he was  _ there.  _

George couldn’t believe his eyes. When he heard shouts coming from outside, he had figured another fight had broken out. He sighed, and pushed himself out of his chair and rounded his desk to go put and end to the commotion.

Instead of the fight he had been expecting, there was his young aide-de-camp. His eyes were wild, his jerky movements were stopping any soldier that was trying to grab him. Faintly, George noticed that Lafayette and Laurens were there too, both trying to reach Alex.

George walked towards him, his presence being enough for the other soldiers to part. When he came to the front of the crowd, he was able to see Alex’s condition more clearly.

His legs were shaking, as if they were just barely supporting his weight. He was covered in blood and dirt. He had varying bruises and cuts on him, the most noticeable being the ones visible through his torn shirt that were too methodical and clean to be accidental or made in battle. Those were made by someone purposely.  _ Those were made through torture. _

“Alexander?” George asked, carefully moving closer.

At the sound of his voice, Alex turned to where George was standing. He didn’t make eye contact, just staring at the ground directly in front of him. Something snapped, and he started to collapse. Just barely, George was able to lunge forward and catch him before he hit the ground. He carefully gathered his too-light form into his arms, and moved through the crowd of whispering crowd toward his tent. John and Lafayette followed him, but his focus was only on the boy in his arms.

What had they done to him?

* * *

Alex was staring blankly at the wall across from him, not seeming to notice the other three men in the room that were sharing concerned glances with each other. He still hadn’t said anything, and had only moved to press his back against the back of the bed and wrap his arms around his knees. His wounds had been tended to by a doctor while he was unconscious.

“Mon petit leon, what happened?” Lafayette tried, walking across the tent and to the bed. Alex didn’t answer, only hugged his knees tighter to his chest. His gaze had moved from the wall to his hands, which were slightly trembling.

His silence was scaring them. He was never like this, the unseeing eyes and tightly-pressed lips transforming him into a completely different person.

“Alexander?” George asked.

Alex shook his head, his eyes still focused on his hands. They trembled harder now. George moved from his chair beside the bed and took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed. Alex still refused to look George in the eye.

“Alex, can you tell us what happened?” John asked, standing at the end of the bed. His friend’s condition scared him greatly, George could tell. The young men were close, and had known each other since the beginning of this wretched war.

He continued to shake his head. His movements grew more violent. At this point, George was worried he’d give himself whiplash. His breaths were short and quick. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to pass out.

George moved further onto the bed until he was sitting next to Alex. “Hey, hey. It’s alright Alex,” George murmured, “You don’t have to speak.”

From his position on the bed, he gently maneuvered Alex until he was laying against his chest. He wrapped his arms around his shaking body, and wondered why the world seemed to be against this poor boy. He started rocking him back and forth, humming some nameless tune.

It had the desired effect. Alex’s breaths slowed down. His form no longer shook. He slightly moved his arms until he was weakly gripping George’s coat. His eyes closed.

“It’s alright, Alex.” George said sadly. “It’s all going to be alright.”

* * *

“Why won’t he speak?” John asked, his eyes rimmed red and watery with unshed tears. He was standing by the tent flaps, as if standing guard against anyone who would try to hurt his friend.

Lafayette was sitting on the chair in front of George’s desk. His face was covered by his hands, and he had a faraway look in his eyes. “This is unlike him. The silence…”

George was still sitting on the bed. His back was propped up against the frame, and Alex was fast asleep in his arms. He had fallen asleep a little while ago, the exhaustion from his escape and discovery (and from the looks of him, torture) finally catching up to him. Alex’s head was resting on his chest, and his arms were placed loosely around his face in a defensive position. George was holding him protectively, pained that he could not prevent the type of horror that made his boy instinctively cower, even while unconscious. “Something happened to him. He won’t say.” George resisted adding on “anything”. Alex hadn’t spoken a word since he had arrived at camp.

“I have seen this before,” Lafayette said, staring off not in a way unlike how Alexander had been, “In soldiers who have been captured. They come back  _ silencieux. _ ”

“But Alex still has his tongue! He is by all means still able to talk! He should not be quiet like this. We asked what happened, and he hyperventilated! It’s like he’s…” John trailed off, realization dawning on his face.

“He’s afraid to speak.” George finished, horrified. What had happened to Hamilton, the boy who had had a gun held to his head and still criticized his assailants choice of waistcoat, that caused him to be afraid to speak around them? He viewed them as practically family, as loathe as he was to admit it, and now he was terrified to use his voice in front of them.

“Merde.” Lafayette said, and that pretty much summed up George’s thoughts.

They all looked at the boy still wrapped in his arms. He looked so small like this, and George couldn’t fathom how someone could hurt him to the point he couldn’t speak.

“You two should get some rest. I’ll summon you when he wakes.” George told them. John looked like he wanted to object, but Lafayette gently took his arm and led him out of the tent.

They were alone, and George took the moment of temporary silence to stop thinking and just hold Alexander. He had been missing for a month, and he was finally back. They could work with what they had, as long as they had  _ him.  _

His thoughts were interrupted by Alex stirring. He wasn’t yet awake, but his arms were twitching. His face was no longer peaceful. It looked troubled, as though he were trying to solve a particularly troublesome puzzle in his sleep.

“Alexander?” George asked, not wanting to wake him if he were still asleep.

Alex’s face took on an expression of sheer terror. His arms fought off an invisible assailant, and he shook harder than before.

“Alex!” George exclaimed, grabbing on to Alex’s hands to prevent him from hurting either one of them.

Alex woke with a choked gasp. He met George’s eyes for the first time since he had arrived, and started silently sobbing.

“Oh, Alex.” George said sadly. He let go of his arms and instead pulled him up until he was completely in his lap. He gently rocked the sobbing boy, running his hand through his hair. “It’s alright, son, you’re back. They can’t hurt you. I’ll never let them hurt you again.”

He was still crying, but he had calmed down slightly. His breaths evened out, and he started absentmindedly tracing patterns onto George’s hand.

George shifted until they were both lying down on the bed, Alex’s head buried in his chest. He moved one hand to stroke Alex’s hair, the other pressed firmly against his back, grounding him. He had fallen back asleep.

George wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. He had just gotten him back, and he wasn’t going to take his eyes off of him. He was never going to lose him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This may get another chapter, and I have an idea for a sequel. But for now, I'm leaving it as a one-shot.


End file.
